


Make Amends

by ticktockclockwork



Series: The Life and Times of Tick the Tock [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:43:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticktockclockwork/pseuds/ticktockclockwork





	Make Amends

For as many times Sherlock had put John in a life or death situation, you'd think he'd be used to it by now. For the most part he was. He was a soldier. He could handle danger and adventure. But this was too close. This was way too fucking close. The rope burn around his neck was proof of that. He just had to be thankful that the culprit was shit at math and hadn't calculated the fall height well enough. Regardless, he wasn't going to the states ever again.

The plane, honestly, couldn’t land fast enough and no ride from the airport to the flat was short enough. The entire time he was silent. He barely even looked to Sherlock. His limp was showing its ugly face when he started up the stairs and his leg gave out completely halfway to his room, as if finally being home, finally being completely safe, was his breaking point. His knee hit hard and he slid back till he was just half leaning against the wall.

The noise alerted Sherlock and he was up the stairs, taking them two at a time, stopping at the top. He was hesitant and with good reason. John was equal parts upset and angry and Sherlock knew it was all directed at him. “John…” He tried, gentle, but it wasn’t right.

“No. Just. No. Go away.” John said, grabbing the banister to try and pull himself up. He had no strength though so Sherlock made a step to try and help. “I said NO!” John snapped, turning a red face to him.. “You’ve done enough, Sherlock. Just leave me alone.” And he was right, as much as Sherlock hated to admit it. John wouldn’t have been caught if it hadn’t been for Sherlock. And they both knew (though Sherlock hadn’t ever said so out loud) that Sherlock had used John as bait in the end. John had figured that bit out too late. And Sherlock had never counted on them trying to hang John.

The sick feeling in his gut was guilt. Pure and simple. He looked away as if stricken and took a step back, just nodding. He knew the marks around John’s neck would remain for awhile. The bruising would slowly fade, but there was burn there and it might scar. Seeing that everyday would make Sherlock sick. John was trying to pull himself up again, this time with more luck, but he wasn’t steady on his feet and Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from slipping his arms under John’s to lend him his strength.

Sherlock had made it out of all this unscathed and that, frankly, just wasn’t fair. John bit his tongue and ground his teeth but allowed Sherlock to guide him to his room, John reaching and then half falling, half crawling up onto his bed. He just wanted to curl up and fall asleep for days. He wanted to sleep it all off and hopefully when he woke up again the whole ordeal would be just a dream. Sherlock was lingering and John decided that the best course of action was to just ignore him. Normally that would be an impossible task but today John had confidence he could manage. He pulled off his shirt and Sherlock winced at the other lighter bruises grazing John’s shoulders and back. He touched one and John went rigid.

“Hands off.” He hissed and Sherlock’s hand recoiled, burned. He nodded. He wasn’t going to get anywhere right now. So he stepped back, closed the door and left John be. He also pretended to ignore the rough and held in sobs from upstairs but no sound had ever cut so deep. It wasn’t till late in the night that he went back upstairs, drawn by the sound of John’s nightmare and terrified that this time, he was the one who put them there.

Sliding into John’s room, he bit his lip at the sight of his companion curling up tight in the bed. John wasn’t a tosser unless he was dreaming of the war. Then it was as if he was fighting the bed. But otherwise, if the nightmares were of anything else, he just curled in on himself, making himself small. Sherlock couldn’t take it, he hated that John was suffering and even more that he was the reason behind it so he moved to the bedside, dropped down and tried shaking John awake. It took a few rustles but then John was jolting, eyes wide, and chest heaving. He looked around wildly and Sherlock felt more of himself break when John’s hand went first to his shoulder. And then to his neck. Then when his eyes focused and he recognized Sherlock, he closed them tight again and curled towards him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” Sherlock breathed out, wrapping his arms around John’s head and shoulders, kissing his hair. “I’m so sorry.” He’d royally fucked up. He knew it. But John had to forgive him. He just had to.

“I know.” John finally choked out, hands untangling from sheets to grip Sherlock’s arms. “I know.” The arms went around Sherlock’s neck, Sherlock crawled into bed with John, and finally Sherlock knew things would be okay. Rocky. But okay.


End file.
